


A Greater than Zero Percentage

by Hours_Gone_By



Series: Trope Bingo Round Twelve [5]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Trope Bingo Round 12, interruptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: Jazz accidentally finds out how sensitive Prowl’s door hinges are and then everything is horribly awkward – until it isn’t any more. Now, if only the war would stop interrupting them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Written for [Trope Bingo](https://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org) [Round 12](https://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/tag/round+twelve). Prompt: Accidental Stimulation

Prowl had known from nearly the moment they met that Jazz was a very tactile mech. Jazz always had a hand on someone's arm, or shoulder, he liked to lean into his friends when they were sitting in the rec room or the officer's club. The more comfortable he was with someone, the more hands-on he got, though Prowl had never seen him behave inappropriately nor received complaints of such.

Currently, Jazz was leaning into Prowl's space as they planned an operation, side brushing Prowl's arm, hand on Prowl's back. Prowl was perfectly comfortable with this. He'd known Jazz a long time, considered him a friend, and would have spoken if he'd been bothered by anything the other mech was doing. Even if Jazz were to get familiar without thinking about it, Prowl was confident he'd back off and apologize if a boundary were set. For now, the tactician was entirely at ease with his companion’s touch. When Prowl was comfortable with someone he was not nearly as stand-offish as many Autobots thought he was.

After some time, and Prowl honestly did not think Jazz was doing it on purpose, Jazz started to rub Prowl's back, just lightly. It felt good, and Prowl found himself relaxing under the touch. Idly, he wondered what it would feel like if Jazz were doing it intentionally, then archived that processing thread for later consideration. He had considered asking Jazz to deepen their relationship on several previous occasions, but the saboteur was random, chaotic, throwing off Prowl’s calculations. Prowl could not determine if the invitation would be welcome and had not yet come to a satisfactory conclusion on the matter.

While Prowl thought, Jazz was describing a preferred outcome for the scenario they were working on. The Spec Ops head's hand drifted lower, following the line of Prowl's spinal linkages. It was enjoyable, in a platonic fashion. Prowl let his optics dim a little bit in response, though he kept his mind on their work. Jazz might seem distracted when he did things like this, but Prowl knew he used physical motion to help him focus. That it felt rather nice for Prowl was just a pleasant side effect.

Then Jazz's hand drifted to the struts supporting Prowl’s doors and the hinges that let them shift to vehicle mode and back when Prowl transformed. They were not transformation seams in the manner most mecha thought of such, and that was probably why Jazz didn’t think more of touching them than he would regular transformation kibble. If he’d known how sensitive they could be, Prowl was confident Jazz wouldn’t have put a fingertip on them. As it was, a small shock of arousal shot through Prowl, and then again as Jazz’s fingers traced the shape of the hinge with a slowness Prow liked very much. If only…

Prowl was reluctant to say it, but not only was this inappropriate for the office and distracting him from the task at hand if he were to accidentally stimulate someone this way he'd want to know.

"Jazz," Prowl said, reluctantly pulling away.

"Wha-? Oh, sorry, Prowl. Those off limits?"

Prowl hesitated only briefly. He hadn't really wanted Jazz to stop, but they hadn't gone down this road together, he wasn’t sure if Jazz really wanted it and, if he did, they'd need to talk. On top of all of that, they were at work.

Prowl decided on the simplest explanation. "In this situation, yes, the hinges and support struts for my doors are off limits."

"In this - ?" Jazz sounded confused at first, but it was clear when the realization hit. "Slag, Prowl, I am sorry!"

"I know, I know," Prowl reassured him, turning to face his friend. “I’m not upset.” He wasn’t. Jazz would never intentionally have done something that would risk making one of his friends uncomfortable.

"I won't do it again," Jazz promised with sincerity, holding his hands up. "I promise.”

“I know,” Prowl assured him. “I trust you – and I did like the back rub.”

Jazz nodded slowly. “Still. Want me to keep my hands to myself? Or are we still good with that, so long as I keep clear of what's off limits?"

"I don't mind your continued touch," Prowl told him. "I trust you to respect my boundaries."

"'Course, Prowler."

Jazz kept his hands to Prowl's shoulders and upper back for the rest of the day, steering clear of the struts and hinges for his doors, though he touched Prowl less than usual. Prowl calculated a high probability that despite Prowl’s words Jazz was now uncomfortable making physical contact with him yet continued out of habit. He was, after all, usually quite comfortable with touching Prowl and Prowl had given him permission to continue. Prowl wanted to bring up the incident again but did not think Jazz wished to discuss it and would only be made more uncomfortable with Prowl’s attempts at this time. So, Prowl kept his silence on the matter, and they completed their tactical plan without further incident and parted ways for the remainder of the mega-cycle.

Prowl could feel the echoes of that accidental stimulation shivering through him throughout the rest of the day. If they hadn't been working, he might have let it go further. He anticipated that, by their next encounter, Jazz would either have returned to his normal degree of physical contact with Prowl or would be willing to talk about what had happened. Prowl concluded that the best thing to do would be to wait until Jazz either spoke of the incident or resumed his regular pattern of behaviour, instead of bringing it up himself.

Instead, Jazz continued the pattern of touching Prowl, then pausing as if to check what he was doing was acceptable. He did not express a wish to discuss his accidental stimulation of Prowl at all.

This did not fit with Prowl’s projection of Jazz’s subsequent behaviour. Clearly, Prowl was missing something. He ran a second series of scenarios and concluded that if Jazz were not going to bring up the incident again the next best thing for Prowl to do was address it himself.

Working hours were not the appropriate time to bring it up, so Prowl waited through a second meeting made awkward by Jazz’s attempts to avoid awkwardness to be sure and then did just that. Prowl chose a time between the point Jazz returned from recreational activities, and the time the tactician estimated he would go to bed. It was later than Prowl preferred to be out, but he calculated it was the best time to speak to Jazz. So, he went and, seeing that the door panel indicated Jazz was home, quickly went over his plan, and signalled Jazz he had a visitor.

“Prowler?” Jazz asked in surprise when the door opened. “Everything okay?”

“May I come in?” Prowl asked politely.

“Yeah, ‘course.” Jazz stepped back so Prowl could walk past him. “Is this about work? Or the other day?”

“It is about the other day, but I am not here because I am upset with you,” Prowl assured him. “In fact, I’m here to assure you I am not.” A possibility he had not previously considered came to mind. “Are _you_ still upset?”

Jazz shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, yeah. I mean, accident or no accident I still shouldn’t’ve done it.”

“Yet it was an accident,” Prowl pointed out. “You stopped when I said stop, you apologized, and you did not repeat the behaviour.”

“Yeah, but – “ Jazz shrugged again, not quite meeting Prowl’s optics.

Prowl knew he tended to miss social cues and sometimes – as now – failed to understand the responses of other mecha. But sometimes, rarely, he got flashes of insight into the behaviour of mecha with whom he closely associated. Like Jazz. Abruptly, he experienced one of those moments.

“Had the situation been different I would not have said stop,” Prowl said suddenly. “Had we not been working, had we discussed a change in our relationship before the event, I would not have asked you to cease your actions.”

Jazz looked surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” Prowl confirmed. “I also thought you would want to know what effect you were having. If you are feeling guilt, it is misplaced.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.” Now it was Prowl’s turn to look puzzled. “Am I ever unsure?”

Jazz relaxed and smiled. “No, you’re not, Prowler. So, you don’t think I should be feeling guilty, huh?”

“I don’t believe you have anything to feel guilty about,” Prowl told him honestly.

Jazz looked away. “Yeah, sounds like.”

Silence fell between them – an awkward silence. It made Prowl uncomfortable. He’d been alone with Jazz before, even alone with him in silence and it had never been awkward before. Prowl…didn’t know what to do. Yes, Jazz had, genuinely unknowingly, misstepped but he had also complied and apologized when Prowl told him to stop and had discontinued the behaviour. That was the correct course of action and Jazz had followed it. Further, Prowl had indicated he would have welcomed the touch if the situation had been different and Jazz had understood what he was doing. He had told Jazz there was no need for him to feel guilty. Yet Jazz was still expressing that emotion and Prowl could not determine why.

“You are still uncomfortable,” Prowl observed. “I don’t understand why. Are you willing to explain it to me, please?”

“Not sure I understand it myself,” Jazz admitted. “Guess I felt like I’d done something you didn’t want and it ain’t quite sunk in yet that you might’ve wanted it if things’d been different. Can’t just switch feelings from one thing to the another ‘cause you want to. Takes some time, sometimes, y’know?”

Prowl understood that. “Perhaps I should leave to permit you time to process?”

“Can’t let you leave without offering you a drink,” Jazz said, a bit quickly. “That’d just be rude. Got some nice, smooth, high-grade…?”

Prowl got the feeling that Jazz wanted him to stay for a drink to help restore a sense of normalcy between them. Prowl wanted that, too, and enjoyed Jazz’s company besides. “I would like that, thank you.”

The remainder of the evening ran well, and Prowl found it quite pleasant. He was sure Jazz did too and, after that, things between them became easy once again. Yet Prowl could feel that something had changed between them. His feeling became a certainty when Jazz showed up at Prowl’s quarters a little under a deca-cycle after the incident.

“Mind if I come in?” Jazz asked, looking a little bit – shy? That was strange; Prowl had never seen Jazz behaving as if he were shy, or hesitant. Still, odd behaviour or not, Prowl gave him permission to enter. “Look, Prowl, I hope this ain’t gonna make things weird between us again but…what you said ‘bout ‘discussing the change in our relationship’ the other night. Is that something you still want?”

 _Oh!_ Of all Prowl’s calculations, this scenario had had a less then eight-point-eight-one-nine percent chance of coming to fruition that evening. Prowl would have expected it to take a few more mega-cycles, especially given Jazz’s difficulty making the shift from expecting blame to Prowl’s expression of interest in him. Of course, eight-point-eight-one-nine was still a greater than zero percentage and Jazz did have a way of making the improbable come to pass.

Prowl reset his optics in surprise. “It still is. Yes, Jazz.”

“Okay.” Jazz was audibly relieved. He reached out and took Prowl’s hand, carefully as if Prowl might pull away, rubbing his thumb over Prowl’s knuckles, back and forth, twice. “Gotta tell you up front, though, I wanted you before I – well, let’s call a spanner a spanner. Before I accidentally groped your hinges. Been wanting you for a long time.”

Ah, that explained quite a bit of Jazz’s reaction.

“And you thought you’d ruined your chance,” Prowl guessed. Jazz nodded. The tactician reached out and took Jazz’s other hand. “You haven’t. Come, sit down with me.”

They settled on Prowl’s small couch. Prowl did not let go of Jazz’s hands.

“I haven’t had many of these conversations,” Prowl admitted, and it was his turn to be shy.

“’S okay, Prowler,” Jazz assured him. “They ain’t exactly the fun part. Gotta have ‘em though. At least we know each other’s clean, though. Ratchet’d have our plating if it were any other way.”

That was true; interface transmitted viruses were not a concern with Jazz. Ratchet had a rigorous scanning regimen for ITVs and another strict regimen for keeping everyone’s antivirals up to date. Primus help anyone who skipped either.

“True,” Prowl acknowledged, feeling grateful to avoid an extra awkward part of an already awkward but necessary conversation. “Do you want an open relationship, or do you prefer exclusive relationships?” Prowl used a glyph undertone to indicate that by ‘relationship’ he meant anywhere there was an emotional connection between the individuals involved, be that two or more.

“That one’s up to you,” Jazz answered. “I’ve done open before, and I liked it, was okay with my partner being open too, but _you_ have to be okay with it. I like to do exclusive at the beginning, get to know the mech.” He smiled. “Get to know you.”

Prowl smiled back, the awkward feeling this conversation always brought up in him easing. “I can agree to that.” He glanced down at their hands. “I haven’t had the best luck with relationships,” he admitted softly. Jazz was an excellent judge of character, was both intuitive and perceptive, and had probably guessed as much, but it felt freeing to say it.

“Okay,” Jazz said gently. “That’s what we’ll do then.” He kissed one of Prowl’s hands. “Just so you know, Prowler, we come back to this and you still want exclusive, it’ll still be okay.”

“Thank you,” Prowl murmured.

“You’re welcome, lover.” Jazz sat with Prowl in silence for a moment, seeming to want to give Prowl space. He also looked to be letting Prowl decide when to bring sex into the conversation.

“Do you want to have a detailed discussion about our likes and dislikes during interface?” Prowl asked. If Jazz felt Prowl was too clinical about this – an accusation a former lover had once levelled – better to hear it now. “Or do you prefer to give a general idea and learn the rest through experience?”

“General idea if that’s okay. Feels weird and kinda clinical to get too into detail, but I will if that’s what you want. Mostly I just want to know if there’s anything you want me to avoid?” Jazz asked seriously. “You don’t have to go into details as to why if you don’t want to, but I’ll listen if you do. All I need to know is the ‘what,’ not the ‘why.’”

“I like the idea of learning what you enjoy through experimentation,” Prowl admitted, “though there are a few things I wish to specify up front. I’ve never had an interest in pain,” he continued. “I do not like any forms of sensory deprivation,” which was putting it mildly; Prowl developed strong anxiety if he experienced sensory loss. “Light bondage is acceptable, however.”

Jazz made an expression of dislike when Prowl mentioned sensory deprivation. That was hardly surprising given Jazz’s love of sensory input in general. “Yeah, same for me on all of those. Imagine we both got some stuff we’ve gotta keep secret, too, right?”

Prowl nodded. “Of course. I hardly expect you to drop all your firewalls to me.”

“Not right away, anyway.” Jazz kissed the back of one of Prowl’s hands, danced soft little kisses across his fingers. “I can see us getting there.”

Prowl had never gotten so close to any lover as to open all his ports and drop all his firewalls. There had always been something holding himself and his partner back from that. A lack of willingness on the part of one or both to bare themselves to the other. The need to keep information private for one reason or another. One wanting something more casual than the other. Only the need for privacy on some subjects existed between himself and Jazz, and Jazz understood that better than anyone Prowl had had a relationship with before.

“I think I would like that,” Prowl offered. “Eventually.”

“Yeah?” Jazz’s smile was broad, his visor bright. He edged closer to Prowl. “Gotta say, that sounds like something worth waiting for.”

“Oh,” was all Prowl could think to say. No one had ever said anything like that to him before.

Jazz’s visor became softly lit around the edges.

“I would, y’know,” the saboteur said quietly, utterly and transparently sincere. “Wait for it, for all of it, if you asked.”

Prowl was possessed of tremendous tactical ability and processing power, further boosted by his supplementary battle computer. He analyzed, calculated, and ran simulations on at least three active processing threads, apart from his ordinary consciousness, at all times or close to it. Prowl rarely said or did anything without considering it and weighing the probable outcomes.

For once, for Jazz, and maybe for himself too, Prowl shut down his normal analysis routines and said the first thing that came to mind.

“I think we’ve waited long enough.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jazz’s smile, warm, genuine, and happy, far from the cocky grin usually associated with him, spread across his face. “Yeah?” He looked like he wanted to climb into Prowl’s lap and be kissed.

Prowl smiled back. He _wanted_ to be climbed on and kissed. “Yeah,” he joked, then reached for Jazz. “May I – “

“ – kiss me?” Jazz finished. “Yes, please!”

Prowl laughed – he’d never laughed at this moment before, never had it felt so _easy_ before – and pulled Jazz close.

“Yes,” Prowl said, Jazz warm underneath his hands, and kissed him.

Jazz knew what he was doing, that was a certainty. The kiss was a little clumsy, to begin with, as first kisses often were, but only for two nano-kliks. They were both quick to adapt. Once they had their angles and rhythm perfected, Prowl ignored all further calculations from his battle computer and focused on enjoying himself and pleasing his partner. They way Jazz pressed into him, chose to deepen the kiss, told him he succeeded.

“Ah, that’s good,” Jazz sighed as the kiss ended. He was tracing little circles on Prowl’s sides. “You have got one sweet mouth on you, Prowler.”

“I have?” Internally, Prowl winced; he sounded far too shy and unsure to his own audials.

“Yeah, really.” Jazz smiled at him gently. “Not used to compliments?”

“Not terribly, no,” Prowl admitted, looking down. He’d had relationships before, but it had been a long time, and the war made it seem longer.

“Well, that ain’t right. Gonna give you so many you start taking them for granted,” Jazz promised, tipping Prowl’s chin back up. His thumb brushed over Prowl’s lower lip as if he couldn’t help but touch.

“I wouldn’t take you for granted,” Prowl assured him.

“Yeah? Gonna have to test that,” Jazz teased, and claimed another kiss. As he did so, he did indeed climb into Prowl’s lap – or, rather, tried to. “Um,” he said after a moment of trying to find space for one knee between Prowl and the back of the couch without shoving Prowl half off it, and of balancing with his other leg bent at a bit of a strange angle. “This couch ain’t meant for two to get up close and personal like this, is it?”

Prowl, pushed partway off the couch despite Jazz’s best efforts and feeling slightly off-center because of it, shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I didn’t requisition it with anything other than sitting in mind.” All of Prowl’s furniture was standard-issue, coming from military stores.

Jazz laughed and stood up. “Fair enough. Got anywhere else we can try this?”

“Of course, but,” Prowl stood up, using the motion to cover his hesitation, “I fear my bedroom is somewhat untidy.”

Jazz flickered half his visor at him, grinning knowingly. “You’ve got work stuff all over the bed, don’t you?”

“Some of it is for leisure,” Prowl countered, letting Jazz lead them. Not having expected to bring anyone to bed anytime soon, and certainly not tonight, Prowl hadn’t bothered to tidy his most private room. He was, after all, the only one who had seen it in longer than he cared to think about.

The plan of the officers’ quarters on this base was standardized, so there was no need for Prowl to give Jazz directions. The door slid open, and Jazz escorted Prowl into his own bedroom. It was as he had left it, recharge bed shut down to conserve power and one half of it, the half where a lover would have slept, covered with a mix of book-pads, his extra work tablet, and a tangle of ribbons he meant to weave into a cushion cover. His weaving frame, which would hold the piece taut as he worked, was on his desk.

“Um,” was all Prowl said, not meeting Jazz’s gaze. This was unquestionably not what people, should they bother to try, would picture when they thought of the Second-In-Command’s bedroom.

“’S okay, lover,” Jazz said. “I know you weren’t expecting me – and trust me, I’ve seen worse. ‘Sides, you’re cute when you’re flustered. You want some help cleaning it up?”

Prowl was already scooping up ribbons – some were still half-spooled and the spools, still on the bed, kept spinning off new lengths as they were moved. They were slippery and hard to keep hold of, mainly since Prowl was somewhat flustered. “If you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.” Jazz picked up a handful of spools and added them to what Prowl held. “Didn’t know you did any textile work, Prowler.”

“I’m trying to learn,” Prowl said. He had all the ribbons now, and he put them on the desk with their frame. “I’ve not had a chance to really get started with it.”

“You’ll get it.” Jazz picked up book pads, stacking them neatly on the nightstand. “Wouldn’t mind seeing what you come up with when you’re done.”

“I’m following a pattern. I can show you what it’s supposed to look like when it’s finished,” Prowl offered, taking his tablet from Jazz’s hand and putting it on the desk. Ribbons promptly slumped sideways, and half buried it.

“Nah, I can wait until you’re finished.” Jazz made himself at home on Prowl’s now-cleared bed, pushing the pillows out of the way so he could sit up against the headboard, and held his hands out. “C’mere, lover.”

Prowl approached and took Jazz’s hands but hesitated instead of getting on the bed. “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere that makes you comfortable is good. Kneeling across m’lap’s good if you like, or right here,” Jazz patted the space next to him, “if that’s better for you.”

Sitting astride Jazz’s lap would give them the best access to each other’s structures and ports, but it felt – strangely, considering they intended to interface – too intimate just then. Prowl compromised by kneeling next to Jazz, facing him. He trusted Jazz to understand.

“Yeah,” Jazz said gently, smiling at Prowl. “That’s good too. C’mere.” He drew Prowl in for another kiss, one hand on the back of Prowl’s head and the other on his waist. “Been a while for you, huh?”

“Yes,” Prowl said. “But not so long I’ve forgotten, never fear.”

“Never crossed my mind, lover,” Jazz reassured him, trailing his fingers over Prowl’s chest. “Been thinking about this, with you, for a while now. You want to go ‘not used to this anymore’ slow or ‘gonna take my time with you, sweetspark’ slow?”

“The second one,” Prowl decided, and then decided that was enough discussion, for now, claiming Jazz’s lips again. He nuzzled Jazz’s cheek, kissed along his jaw, his chin, back to his mouth. Jazz’s hands were on him, stroking and exploring, gently teasing their way to Prowl’s hinges. Prowl relaxed into the touch, sighing in anticipation, learning the shape of his lover’s body in his own turn. Working his way down, he traced his fingers over the boxy shapes of Jazz’s hips, teased at the closures for his speakers and Jazz pushed into the touch. Prowl committed those spots to memory, nosed in under Jazz’s chin to kiss and lick his throat, finding the sensitive carotid line. They were going slowly, but their charge was already rising.

“Gonna look after you, Prowler,” Jazz promised, fingers finally finding hinges, ready to touch and pleasure with knowledge of what he was doing, with Prowl’s full consent. Prowl arched his back into the touch, not even trying to hide his shiver of anticipation. “Yeah, that’s it, babe. Gonna make you feel so good. So good, sweetspark. You – “

They were most rudely interrupted by the alarms going off, klaxons blaring in the corridor and the red alert light flashing in Prowl’s bedroom. Jazz swore impressively.

“Fragging jack-blocking Decepticons,” he growled. Prowl, _very_ reluctantly pulling himself free, heartily shared the sentiment. “Guess we gotta go, lover.”

“I’ll comm you when I’m free again?” Prowl offered, busily rerouting and dispersing energy, so he wasn’t walking into Tactical Operations Command half-charged.

Jazz flashed him a grin. “You better, mech.”

The attack, fortunately, was quickly turned back. It was little more than a raid, but it came perilously close to an area Prowl had recently identified as a weak point that could allow access to a secure facility if a breach occurred and were not detected in time. That was the reason the alert had gone off in the officers’ quarters. Indeed, had the Decepticons hit but fifty mega-miles to the north there would have been no need to interrupt Prowl’s evening.

Fragging jack-blocking Decepticons was right.

Plans were already in place to reinforce the weak point that had been at risk; Prowl increased the priority on them as he awaited the data from his staff so he could complete his report on the incident. Praise be to the inventor of forms, it didn’t take too long. He would have commed Jazz, but his order to increase priority on the weak point raised questions for the materiels coordinator and once Prowl had _that_ sorted a half-dozen more things immediately queued up and clamoured for his attention.

Prowl sat and stared at them for a moment. The new items were minor, petty almost. They were things Prowl could easily leave until the next shift. He was only in his office now because of the attack. If he left them unfinished, he would _know_ they were incomplete, and that knowledge would nag at him unless he deliberately killed the processing thread. Yet, his evening with Jazz was unfinished as well, was it not?

Jazz’s needs and reactions had to factor into Prowl’s calculations now. Jazz understood Prowl’s intense dedication to his work, would not be surprised if Prowl remained well past the time it took to create and file a post-action report. Would probably not be surprised if Prowl did not return to his quarters at all. Jazz knew Prowl very well, and Jazz also desired a relationship with him. The parameters of a romantic relationship shifted Prowl’s personal versus professional priority trees. Jazz would understand if Prowl remained, but Jazz would be pleased and perhaps touched that Prowl had put him first.

Prowl wanted to put Jazz first. He shut down his terminal.

Jazz was in his quarters and Prowl went to them. His to-be lover grinned broadly at him as the door opened, took his hands and pulled him inside.

“Ready to pick up where we were so rudely interrupted?” Jazz asked, catching Prowl by the waist and pulling him close. His answer to his own question was clearly ‘yes.’

“I am,” Prowl assured him, relieved that _Jazz_ at least didn’t feel awkward. Prowl had been unsure quite how to pick up where they’d left off, but apparently, they simply would. “Very much so.”

“Good,” Jazz said and spun them around, dancer-graceful, urging Prowl toward the bedroom. “Because I – _oh_ _frag it all_! Priority comm.”

Prowl nodded and waited patiently, still holding Jazz’s hands.

“I gotta go,” Jazz said after two-point-four kliks of verbal silence. “Elita’s team found a way to breach one of Shockwave’s experimentation facilities in Uraya. Too sensitive and high-profile a target to – well, you get it. Briefing and deployment gotta be done in under two cycles.”

“I understand,” Prowl said, letting go of Jazz’s hands and stepping back.

“Yeah, I know, just – Primus dammit!” Jazz caught Prowl’s face between his hands and kissed the tactician, pouring affection and want into it. “Comm you when I get back, and I _am_ coming back from this. Don’t know when, but I am.”

“I know.” Prowl kissed him back. “Go.”

Jazz went.

As usual, Prowl spent the time Jazz was away working as much as he could so that he would worry as little as possible. But one of the perils of being extraordinarily efficient was that even he eventually ran out of work to do and he needed another way to distract himself.

He finished the books he’d meant to read. He developed a strategy in the game he was playing with Smokescreen that took the diversionary tactician three whole mega-cycles to figure out a way around. He wove the ribbons Jazz had helped him pile on his desk into the promised cushion cover and used it to recover one of the couch cushions, started a second one. Textile work proved oddly relaxing, Prowl found.

The other half of his bed stayed clear. Just in case Jazz arrived at his quarters with little warning.

As it turned out, Prowl was right to expect that.

“It went poorly?” was the first thing Prowl said. Jazz’s shoulders were slumped, just a little, and his visor was slightly dim.

“One of my mechs is down,” Jazz said, sounding tired. “Don’t wanna talk ‘bout it just yet, but I said I’d comm you, so…”

“Come in, Jazz, please,” Prowl said gently, holding out a hand for him to take. “I’ll get you some energon, and we can spend some time together.”

“Yeah,” Jazz said, taking the proffered hand, “I’d like that. Thanks, Prowler.”

“Have a seat,” Prowl said, leading him inside. “I’ll get you your energon.” He kept a small private stock in his quarters for those days when he didn’t want to visit the commissary.

“’Kay. Hey, you finished it!” Jazz had obviously spotted the bright jewel-tones of the cushion cover Prowl had woven. “Can I touch?”

Prowl suppressed a smile. Of course Jazz, tactile and curious, would want to touch. “Go ahead.”

Jazz picked up the cushion and examined it. “Very cool, Prowler, very nicely done. Love the colours.”

“I’m pleased you approve,” Prowl said, meaning it. He trusted Jazz to know what looked good much more than he trusted himself. “Do you have any preference for additives or flavouring?”

“Nah, whatever you think’s good.”

Prowl checked through his store of additives and flavouring and consulted his database of primary medical care. He selected some copper and a bit of silicon, flavoured the energon and headed back to his guest.

Jazz looked like he was already half in recharge, leaning against the back of the couch with the cushion loosely held in one arm. “Thanks, mech,” he said, accepting the cube Prowl handed to him. He drained half of it in one go. “Sorry, don’t mind my manners.”

“You must be hungry,” Prowl replied diplomatically. “May I - ?” He gestured to the spot next to Jazz, who huffed a laugh.

“Fragging Pit, mech, it’s your couch. Go ahead.” A little more seriously he added, “I’m down from the mission, don’t worry. Ratchet wouldn’t let me out to see you till he was sure of it.”

“I want to make sure you’re comfortable,” Prowl explained, sitting next to Jazz. Even though Jazz had said he’d come down from the mission Prowl was careful to telegraph his movements as he put an arm around Jazz’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jazz drank again, not quite as deeply as before. “I’d have to be in scary deep to not recognize you as safe, Prowl.”

Prowl was touched. “Truly?”

“Yep.” Jazz was leaning into him, nearly-empty cube tilting at an angle. Prowl set both cubes, one after the other, on the arm of the couch. “You’re the safest mech I know.”

“Jazz,” Prowl started and then faltered. He didn’t know what to say to that.

“Hey, Prowl, mind if I just rest for a bit? Wanna be close to you.”

“Whatever helps, dearspark,” Prowl said gently.

“Thanks, lover,” Jazz said gratefully.

Prowl expected Jazz to stay leaning into him, or to get up and go to bed. Instead, the tired Autobot curled up on the couch, head in Prowl’s lap. After a moment’s pause, Prowl rested one hand on Jazz’s arm and stroked his helm with the other. Jazz sighed and relaxed.

“Is that alright?” Prowl asked after a klik or so of that. Jazz didn’t answer. Prowl took a moment to assess: Jazz was relaxed, his visor was off, and his systems were running in low-power mode. He was sleeping, head on Prowl’s thigh, the brightly-coloured cushion clasped just under his bumper.


	3. Chapter 3

Prowl woke up in his bed instead of on the couch the next morning, his last memory one of Jazz urging him to his room. Prowl remembered he had fallen asleep sitting up on the sofa, Jazz a warm weight against his thigh. Prowl must have drifted off himself sometime after Jazz had fallen asleep in his lap. He had not been psychologically and emotionally drained as Jazz was, but he’d evidently been tired enough to fall asleep sitting up. It was hardly the first time that Prowl had slept while sitting up, but it was the first time he’d done so in such an intimate position.

“Morning, sweetspark,” Jazz, lying on his side in the space where Prowl’s tablet, books, and projects would usually be, greeted him with a smile. Prowl was somewhat surprised to see him as alert as he was – he wouldn’t have expected Jazz to be much of a morning person.

“Good morning, Jazz,” Prowl replied with a soft smile of his own. Prowl was also lying on his side, as he preferred, and he and Jazz were facing each other. Jazz looked like he belonged, perfectly at ease in Prowl’s bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling a whole lot better, lover, like a new mech. Thanks for letting me lean on you like that – helped a bunch. Plus, Ratchet commed and said my agent’s gonna make it through. And hey,” Jazz added happily, “we finally made it into bed together!”

“So we did.” Prowl put a hand on Jazz’s cheek, leaned in so he could claim a good-morning kiss, one that started sweet and tender only to rapidly grow heated and gain intent.

Prowl often used the time before his shift to run through a mental checklist of what he had to do that day, less often for leisure. Today he had every intention of using that time to interface with Jazz. Prowl could be patient, infinitely so, but there was a time for patience and a time to claim what – and whom – one desired.

His lover had the same thing in mind, it seemed. Jazz’s fingers traced a line along Prowl’s hip, flirted with the closure of one of his data ports before sliding along his side. “Still pretty early. You wanna make the most of it?”

“Yes, I do,” Prowl said, trailing his fingers along Jazz’s bumper, lightly tracing a headlight. He did, and not just because he was concerned about yet another interruption. “Very much so.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Jazz said quietly, hand coming to rest on Prowl’s waist. “Kept thinking about this – you and me - on the transport out and on the way back. I’m glad I didn’t have to leave us with regrets.”

“As am I,” Prowl agreed. If anything had happened to Jazz, Prowl would always have wondered what could have been. At that moment, however, Prowl was very, very aware of Jazz’s proximity, of his warmth and the way his visor was softly lit. Softly lit _for_ _Prowl_. “Let’s not lose any more time.”

Jazz apparently agreed because he caught Prowl close for more kisses, working one arm underneath the tactician to press against Prowl’s back, just below his door hinges. He kept it there, not moving, while his other hand roved over Prowl’s body, an enticing promise of what would come later. Jazz shifted downward, just enough he could get his mouth on Prowl’s throat and collar fairing, dextrous fingers finding their way to gaps and seams Prowl hadn’t felt pleasure from in a long, long time. Prowl moaned and gasped, murmured encouragement, knowing that every sound and every word would only add to his sound-attuned lover’s pleasure.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jazz encouraged him. “Let me hear what you like. Primus, I love to hear your voice!”

“Love to hear yours,” Prowl responded, eagerly exploring his lover’s body. Their structures were similar enough that Prowl guessed what he liked would, by and large, work on Jazz as well. He reached down and pulled Jazz’s leg over his own, pressing their hips closer. Fingers around the speaker, down the back of the thigh, into the joint of the knee, a little teasing of sensors, then some pressure just _there_ …

“Damn, yeah, Prowl!” Jazz groaned into his throat. “’S good. Like that, yeah…”

Prowl mouthed at a sensor horn, curious if would have an effect, and Jazz grabbed at him, pressing him closer with the hand on his back. His other hand lifted to run so, so slowly along the edge of Prowl’s upper door, then the bottom, pausing just at the corner nearest Prowl’s back.

“I’m assuming it’s situationally appropriate for me to touch your door struts and hinges now?” Jazz teased, as Prowl shivered under his lover’s mouth and hands.

“Oh yes,” Prowl assured him and pressed back into Jazz’s talented, long-fingered hands as they worked their way up.

“Like this?” Jazz murmured, skimming his fingers along a strut, playing with the opposite hinge. Prowl moaned an affirmative to his question. Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl, each hand caressing its opposite door joint.

“Jazz,” Prowl moaned, surrounded by his lover. “Oh…Jazz…”

Jazz’s touch had been pleasurable when he was touching Prowl’s door supports idly and without the intent to arouse, even if that had been the effect. Now that Jazz knew, now that he was working on exciting his lover, Prowl’s charge was rising _fast_. This was more than the gentle frisson of casual touch. Jazz seemed fascinated by finding ways to make Prowl gasp and arch into his fingers, as talented on Prowl’s structure as they were on his instruments. Prowl wanted to see Jazz this time, but maybe next time Jazz could be behind him, could kiss his door joints while he touched him. Prowl could find the sensitive spaces in Jazz’s legs that way, and they could connect and play the sensations back and forth to each other until they climaxed.

“So good,” Prowl groaned, dragging his fingers through the seam of Jazz’s hip and thigh. “Jazz – oh! – I _want_ you!”

“You want to get off before or during connection?” Jazz asked, rolling his hips into Prowl’s touch. “I mean, for the first overload. Me, I like to get a little bit of buzz beforehand, jack in while the overload’s still zinging through my systems. Gives it an extra jolt.”

“Next time,” Prowl promised. “We’ve tried this twice, and if we’re interrupted again before we get to connect with each other, much less overload, I may kill Megatron myself.”

Jazz laughed into Prowl’s hood, Prowl’s charge so high that the vibrations only became more pleasure running through him. “Wouldn’t that be one hell of an entry for the history books?” He adopted a serious, narrator-like tone. “‘The Third Cybertronian War was ended when Optimus Prime’s head tactician personally assassinated Megatron due to increasing sexual frustration.’” He chuckled again, going back to his normal voice. “Guess I better make sure you’re satisfied, lover, or it’ll be me in your sights.”

Prowl chuckled softly and bit lightly at a sensor horn, just barely closing his teeth around it, and soothed the nip with a slow lick. “I have every faith in you, Jazz.”

“Yeah, Prowler,” Jazz murmured, placing delicate little kisses along Prowl’s armour. “I’ll take care of you. Make you feel so good, just like I promised, remember?”

“I’ve forgotten nothing of our first encounter,” Prowl told him, tipping his chin up for a kiss. “I’ve thought of it often, almost as often as I’ve thought of you.”

“Yeah,” Jazz breathed, looking at Prowl as if he were the whole world. Prowl had never seen Jazz look at anyone like that. He’d never seen anyone look at _him_ like that before. “Me too. Open up for me, sweetspark?”

“ _Yes_.” Prowl let his port covers slide open – the ones in his hips, as one usually did with a new lover, and his chest both. Hips and wrists were more customary with a new lover, but Prowl wanted Jazz’s hands to stay where they were. “I want to feel you in my systems, I want to show you what your touch feels like to me.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jazz nipped Prowl’s collar fairing affectionately, darted his tongue into the space between collar and throat. He opened his own ports, the ones corresponding to Prowl’s. “Hook us up, babe. I wanna feel your jacks in me.”

Prowl watched Jazz affectionately as he made the physical connections between them. Jazz made a little sound of anticipation each time Prowl plugged a jack, whether it be his or Jazz’s, into a port. A private network opened between them as fast as their protocol suites would allow and the connections could be tested and engaged. This was new between them, and it took a few nano-kliks longer than it would if they had interfaced before but that only sweetened the anticipation.

“Oh…Oh, Primus,” Jazz said in a low voice, letting his head drop onto Prowl’s chest, as soon as all connections were complete. “Oh, Prowl. You’re – you are _beautiful_ , mech!”

“I – “ Prowl’s first instinct was to protest. He didn’t understand _why_ he should want to. Jazz meant every word of it, Prowl could feel _that_ even without data being actively transmitted between them, and should not lovers find each other beautiful? Jazz was beautiful in Prowl’s optics, after all.

“Yeah, you are,” Jazz insisted. “You are. You’re – I can’t, can’t tell you, hafta show you. Can I – ?”

“Yes.” Prowl ran a quick algorithm to optimize their network and bandwidth fanned even further open between them. “There. Like that?”

“Oh yeah,” Jazz mumbled into Prowl’s chest. “Yeah, Prowler. Mmm. There’s so _much_ of you! Gorgeous.” His voice was laced with static. “Gonna show you.”

A packet of data – a collection of sensory input, emotional reaction, impressions, thoughts, and memories – was transmitted and Prowl opened it, gasping under the onrush.  Through Jazz’s optics, his sensors, his mind and his spark, Prowl _was_ beautiful.

Jazz showered him with more touches, more sensory data, more affection; another mech would have had to scramble to return it, but not Prowl. Prowl filled in the nano-kliks needed to package up _his_ view of _Jazz_ by showing Jazz what the saboteur’s hands on his door hinges felt like, then poured his impressions across their network while Jazz was still reacting to that. Prowl sent how he saw his lover: bright, quicksilver, cunning, Jazz, always ready with a grin, always there for him. He followed it up, too fast for Jazz to have processed the data, with a burst of undirected sensory information – the way their first kiss had felt, a little clumsy but so, so right – that didn’t need to be unpacked. Jazz groaned and wrapped his leg more tightly over Prowl’s to haul them even closer together, feeding Prowl his reactions to the first packet. Prowl moaned, let his response pour over the connection, accepted Jazz’s back, transmitted his own. There was more, more sensory data, more pleasure, more charge, with each iteration until upload and download were simultaneous and bright static arced and danced between their bodies.

“Oh, oh, frag, Prowl,” Jazz said in a strangled, static-filled voice. “That’s – that’s just – I’m gonna…frag, frag, _frag!_ _Prowl!_ ”

Prowl held Jazz while the overload shook through him, charge grounding out through Prowl’s superstructure, held him until he relaxed and soft pulses of satiation filled their link. Prowl’s own overload was close, but he held off until his lover was done, wanting to see, to memorize Jazz’s face in the moment.

It was everything Prowl had hoped for.

Jazz was trembling slightly in his arms but not so far under still as to neglect Prowl’s climax. It didn’t take much to bring Prowl off, not with his charge at such strength, just skilled hands on his door struts and his lover softly murmuring encouragement. Prowl came with a full-throated moan, curling more tightly around Jazz, static snapping on metal skin and his lover whispering praise.

Prowl’s battle computer and most of his higher functions were suspended in his post-overload haze. He let himself bask in the pleasure, in his connection with Jazz, in the feel of his lover’s body in his arms, for as long as he could.

“Primus, you look good when you come,” Jazz said admiringly. He’d waited until Prowl had come ‘round enough to better understand words before speaking. There was still the faintest touch of interference in his words, though.

Prowl hummed wordlessly in response, systems still mildly scrambled. He didn’t really need words, though. Not with Jazz.

“I have _got_ to see that again,” Jazz continued. “It’s a Primus-damned shame we’re so close to first shift.”

For the first time in his life, Prowl thought about being late to work. The network was still open between them, though not actively transmitting data, and Jazz caught the desire to be lazy. Of course he did – he probably would have picked up on it without the connection, too. Having a lover who already knew him so well – yes, Prowl decided, he liked that.

Jazz picked up on that as well and sent a pulse of affection through the network. Prowl answered by cuddling him closer, into a happy tangle of limbs and cables. Content, Jazz nestled into him and they spent a few more kliks just basking in each other’s presence.

“A shame we can’t spend the whole day here,” Prowl said regretfully, all too soon. He had calculated precisely how much time they could stay where they were before having to get up, and there wasn’t much left.

“I can maybe sell Prime on officer morale if you want me to try and get us the day off,” Jazz offered, stretching up to put a kiss on Prowl’s chin.

Prowl chuckled softly. “I don’t think Prime can afford to be that generous right now.” He nuzzled his lips against the nearest sensor horn. “Pity.”

“Yeah,” Jazz agreed. He must have been calculating the time remaining as well because he reluctantly pulled his upper hand from Prowl’s back and began to disconnect them. Prowl made to help, but Jazz gently batted his hand away. “Don’t worry about it, Prowler, I got it. I like taking care of you.”

Prowl thought of all the times Jazz had relieved tension in his shoulders using pressure points or brought him energon when he was too busy to get fuel himself. He thought of Jazz helping him scoop up spools of ribbon and a thousand other tiny little things the other mech did just because.

“And I do like it when you take care of me,” Prowl told him. “But I would like the chance to take care of you as well.”

“You have. You do.” Jazz picked up Prowl’s hand and tenderly kissed the palm. “You think I let myself fall asleep in just any mech’s lap?”

“No, of course not. Only those of tacticians who make cushion covers,” Prowl answered with a smile, making Jazz laugh.

“Yeah,” Jazz said fondly, smiling warmly down at Prowl. “Only those guys. C’mon, lover.” He got up, stretching when his feet hit the floor. “I’ll buy you breakfast – well, dispense you breakfast since we’ve only got time for the commissary - and walk you to your office. Sound good?”

“It sounds wonderful,” Prowl said honestly, standing and carefully smoothing out the wrinkles on the pillows. As soon as he smoothed the pillow his lover had used, Jazz’s hand darted out and playfully disarranged it again. When Prowl looked up, he was grinning.

“It’s no jumble of datapads and ribbons,” Jazz teased, “but I figured you like a little chaos on this side of the bed.”

Prowl dismissed the urge to reach out and straighten the pillow again. (Jazz would only muss it once more, after all. Prowl didn’t need to engage his tactical systems to know _that_.) Instead, he smiled and began to walk to the end of the bed, holding out a hand for his lover to take and join him. “I do, yes. The pillow will have to do until your return.”

“Suppose it’ll have to.” Jazz had circled the bed and met up with Prowl, taking Prowl’s hand in his, warm and sure. “Gonna make that soon, lover?”

“Shall I extrapolate from our experiences to date?” Prowl asked, drily rhetorical. “Nothing is certain, but I hope so.”

“Busy tonight? We could grab dinner together and then see where things go?” Jazz offered.

“I can calculate with nearly one-hundred percent accuracy where they’ll go, provided we’re not interrupted again,” Prowl said, cupping the back of Jazz’s head in his hand and pulling him into a kiss.

Jazz tipped his head curiously. “’Nearly?’”

“Unfortunately, nothing is certain.” Prowl knew statistics better than anyone else, and he knew that, all too well, to be true.

Jazz bumped his forehelm lightly into Prowl’s chevron and rested there, expression serious, looking into Prowl’s optics. “Some things are certain,” he corrected. “Even if you don’t know when they’re gonna happen. Like me coming back to you, beautiful.”

“And this is also certain,” Prowl promised, spark spinning happily, “I will be waiting for you.”


End file.
